


Flipside

by cadkitten



Category: lynch.
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Break Up, F/M, Loneliness, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9111934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: I shouldn't feel like it's all on me, I really shouldn't. It's just that sometimes it's difficult to see past the present, hard to see the reality of a situation. It's as if there's two parts inside my mind: the one that tells me this bullshit isn't my fault and the one that whispers that it's always me.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [autumn_prince](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=autumn_prince).



> Song[s]: "I Forgive You" by Sia  
> Requested and here it is for the holiday season!  
> Hazuki/OFC is PAST, not present.

It feels like a bullet through my heart. I search the depths of my own mind for _hours_ , determined to find where I went wrong. What was it that I could possibly have done to drive her away? Only three dates and she says we're _done_ ; says it with such conviction and finality that there is no arguing. There's not even a single thing I can say in reply to the text besides a simple _okay_. I only reply with the single word out of courtesy - _respect_ \- because to leave her hanging, even now, is beyond something I could ever allow myself to do.

It's an inevitability, really, for me to end up right here. Time and again, person after person, I eventually find myself staring down at my phone in dismay. Maybe it's the hours that I keep or perhaps it's the repulsion of some greater force than I that pushes everyone away. Given time, I'm sure even the band will fall apart at the seams, everything I've ever worked for turning to ashes because of _me_. 

I shouldn't feel like it's all on me, I really shouldn't. It's just that sometimes it's difficult to see past the present, hard to see the reality of a situation. It's as if there's two parts inside my mind: the one that tells me this bullshit isn't my fault and the one that whispers that it's always me. If I dug deep enough, I could call it conceited, _narcissistic_ , given how self-centered such thought processes are. But in some strange way, it's also directly the opposite. It's my fault because _I_ don't matter, because I hate who I am on the inside and it reflects in every single second of every single event in my life. I'm sure a therapist would have a field-day just trying to figure me out.

Not for the first time, my fingers move to open another contact - the one I _always_ come back to - and maybe that should say something about why it never works out with anyone else, but I ignore it, push it aside to deal with later. There's a knowledge that later will never come somewhere in the back of my mind as I open a text message and type out a hasty message. For an instant my finger hesitates over the Send button before tracking back up to the backspace and holding it until all of the words are gone. 

How many times have I done this? How many breakups have I been through where my very first instinct is to contact _him_? 

It's these instances where I'm thinking of myself and nothing more. How much I want his arms around me, his warmth behind me and around me. I want his support and the quiet timbre of his voice letting me know I'm worth something to him, if to no one else on this planet. I've never made the call, never completed the text. In all of this, I've always suffered through it alone.

I can still see the look in his eyes the last time. The sadness and the blatant desire to do something to help me, but not knowing _what_. He's always been prone to inaction when it comes to now knowing what to do. Perhaps there's a certain hilarity in the universe for our own flaws to line up so _horrendously_. 

My phone lands on the couch, the screen dimming from the lack of interaction, though still not turning completely off and it leaves me staring at his contact photo - a picture we took while we were drunk _years_ ago. His arms squeezing me tight and my lips pressed to his cheek, a look of pure bliss on my face. I've never shown it to him, never let him see what he didn't see in that moment, what one of our staff members captured on my own phone in a fit of _whim_.

Closing my eyes, my head hits the back of the couch. I wouldn't call this one heartbreak, wouldn't even say I was that invested. Honestly, I've been lacking investment in the last few, too scared to try when it always ends the same way. I can't even remember the last time I was the one to push someone away. 

My thoughts drift toward the future and all I can see is the endless wash of people standing in my path, the hundreds more that will see me once or twice or maybe even three times before the walk right back out of my life, holding onto another little piece of me. Truth is, they'll never get it all. They can't when there's only one person who could ever own it all.

The faint chiming of my ringtone starts up and the screen brightens to show who is calling. 

_Akinori _.__

__My heart slams right up into my throat and I snatch it up, answering it - perhaps - too quickly, too eagerly. "Hey."_ _

__There's a moment where I think maybe he dialed me on accident and then there's a hitch in his breath and a quiet, "I can't believe I'm doing this," followed by a laugh that's mostly born of _fear_._ _

__Pulling my legs up under me, I settle again on the couch and cradle the phone against my ear. "Doing what?"_ _

__Another little hitch of breath and then, "Calling you _like this_."_ _

__It takes my brain a second to catch up, takes it far too long to unravel this little mystery and even once I do, I don't _believe_ it. I can feel the little thrill that burns low in my abdomen telling me what this really is, but my mouth refuses to believe it and it's hopeless to stop the words that pour from my lips. "Are you... you're _not_. What..." adrenaline surges through me and I can hear the shake in my own voice, "You're..."_ _

__This time there's humor in the quiet huff of his laugh. "Calling my _best friend_ while I'm - uh - ... _yeah_ , I am."_ _

__"Say it." The demand falls free before I can think to _ask_ instead of tell._ _

__"Just," there's that fear again, intense and _beautiful_ in his voice, " _listen to me_ , please?"_ _

__It's not the first time. In fact, it's probably what started it all for me, what set me on a desperate path of longing and _need_ when it comes to him. It _is_ the first time he's not sounded like he's blitzed out of his mind though and that pushes the next words from me without hesitation. "Are you drunk?"_ _

__A shift of fabric and he sucks in a breath and I _know_ what he's already doing. "Stone cold sober."_ _

__My hips give a little push against the air and I'm already certain this will be the time I give in, the time I fall into the trap I've been setting myself up to fall into for years. He moans and I shove the phone between my shoulder and ear, reaching down to unfasten my pants as quietly as I can. My fingers tremble and my heart pounds out of control in my chest._ _

__The first moment my hand makes contact with my own cock, I'm _history_. There's no stopping me now, no holding back or pretending I'm not getting off to this just as much as he is, and I'm not sure why there's _shame_ attached to an act he's already committing. _ _

__My breathing speeds up and I know he can hear it, I know by the way the _sound_ of his hand over his own length comes quicker, more frantic than it already was. His beautiful moan greets my ears again and then, brokenly, "Are you?"_ _

__" _Yes_." I can't even find it in me to deny it. For once there's truth and I'm not about to let it stop. _ _

__He _whines_ and my hand moves quicker, my hips picking up a vested interest in how quickly I'm going to arrive at my orgasm. _ _

__"Tell me... tell me what you never will." I can hear him moving and then the slick sound of his movements and I know he's added lube to the mix._ _

__A shiver works its way down my spine and I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining everything I've ever wanted to, allowing myself to see what he's doing in my mind's eye. "It's always you that I want." The way I say it, it's so matter-of-fact, so purposeful when everything else is entirely up in the air. My brain doesn't really comprehend how we ended up here or how we always do, how it's like he _knows_ I need him like this again and again. In the same breath, it's _so obvious_ that we're repeating the same dance, the very same actions to drive us to this point, to where neither of us can deny a single solitary thing and it all just culminates in _this_._ _

__He goes silent for a moment and I know he's about to cum, know from all the other times that he even holds his breath right before he's about to lose it, and then he's moaning, quietly crying out my name, and I'm following him over the edge, hips jerking. My breathing's erratic and my heart beats out a rhythm that would otherwise indicate I'm strained in ways I shouldn't be, except... _except_._ _

__For one blissful second there's _nothing_ ; no shame, no pain, no heartache, and no worry. When the world filters back in, I can hear him breathing, can hear the smile in his voice as he whispers out my name and _this time_ , I know it's all going to be different. This time he knows._ _


End file.
